


Burning Bright

by IcyPanther



Series: Burning Bright, Shining Strong, Stand Together Now, Carry On [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abuse, Child Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, How Shiro and Keith meet, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Origin Story, Protective Shiro (Voltron), big brother program, foster kid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 20:29:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12872400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyPanther/pseuds/IcyPanther
Summary: Last chance, they told him. If this family didn't work out then it was back to the group home for him. And as much as Keith disliked the foster system, he hated the group home. He'd endure anything life threw at him to avoid going back. But when he meets Shiro, Keith realizes that, perhaps, there's more to life than just enduring. His world is about to become a whole lot brighter.





	Burning Bright

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Some mentions of abuse, fighting. Nothing graphic.

Last chance, they told him. If this family didn't work out then it was to the group home for him for the next year.

And as much as Keith hated the foster families he hated the group home more. That place was full of the failures like him; the violent, angry kids who couldn't fit in, but unlike him they liked it that way. It gave them free reign to do whatever they wanted, the building understaffed by adults who may have once cared but now only went through the barest of motions.

All the adults were like that though. The group home staff, the social workers. They were tired and sick of it and Keith understood. He was too. But they were the adults. They were supposed to look out and care about them. Care if they were dragged from their beds by the bigger, older kids and forced to spend the night outside. Should care that he hadn't eaten in two days because the others kept stealing his food. Care that he was alone in the bathroom trying to pull a shard of broken glass from his leg where Bobby had struck him with a bottle for "looking at him funny."

He'd tried fighting back, but he was too small. Always too small. Despite his determination he only ever ended up hurt and on the wrong side of a right hook.

He did have a knife. It had belonged to his mom, his dad said. It was the only thing he had left from that time, the time before his dad had died and he'd wound up in foster care at the tender age of seven. He used to keep it under his pillow and had trained himself to reach for it when foreign hands had descended on him and normally the glint of steel had protected him from the worst of it.

But then he'd accidentally hurt a foster brother with it and the home had found out and they had _taken_ it despite Keith, for the first time he could recall,  _begging_ because it was  _his_ and the only thing he had left.

They hadn't cared.

Keith had stolen it back first chance he got, climbing into the home's main office through the window and easily jimmying open the cheap safe. He couldn't use it again though; he knew the other kids would tattle this time and then he would _never_ see it again. So he kept it hidden in the space under his mattress at the home, under the bed or a drawer whenever he was placed into foster care, and he suffered through the bullying anew. 

Keith was always, always on his own.

And that's why he had to make this new family work, at least to where they wouldn't throw him back in there.

So when the biological son, Keith's own fourteen-years-of-age but twice as big, slammed him up against the wall and left large bruises with a warning to not get too comfortable, he said nothing.

When his new foster mom screamed at him for touching her kitchen – even though he hadn't left a crumb behind – and banned him from meals for the next two days as a lesson he said nothing.

When his foster dad rapped him about the head – drunk and angry and needing someone to take it out on – and left a dark bruise below his eye, he said nothing.

It wasn't so bad. He had his own room, which was a near first, even though he was forbidden from locking the door. And most of the time he had access to food and no one stole it from him once it was in his possession. He still kept a small hoard though of extra rations when he could squirrel them away without suspicion. Just in case. For when he was banned from the kitchen again.

School wasn't awful either. He was at the local high school, a half mile jaunt away. He chosen to walk to and from rather than taking the bus, enjoying the quiet and the dry heat of Arizona's autumn. Other than the one math class with his foster brother, Garrett, he didn't know anyone in any class and he aimed to keep it that way. He'd heard the other kids whisper, but he ignored them. Whispers – words – couldn't hurt. It was better this way.

But then he'd had his monthly check-in with one of his many, many social workers – troublesome, they called him, and he was punted about the office like an unwanted football – and she had seen his newest bruise. This one from his foster father's open hand after Keith had apparently talked back when he had been accused of attacking the biological son. He'd tried to defend himself, explain that that the son had gotten into a fight with a junior at school, but then he'd been accused of lying and it had only gotten worse. He'd fumbled up the excuse of a fight at school to the social worker because technically it wasn't wrong.

Because as crappy as his new family was – and why, he wondered despairingly, were they all like this? So cold and cruel and uncaring? Did no one want him? Was he really that much trouble? – he preferred them any day to the group home. At least here he had an escape to actual school, not a home-schooled room by an adult who did not care. Here he was ignored most of the time, told to go to his room and stay there and he didn't mind. Not really. It was better to be left alone then to be hurt. He'd do anything to stay here. He couldn't — wouldn't — go back to the home.

The social worker had sighed and said she was signing him up for a big brother program as a last ditch effort to improve his behavior. She was the first one though to suggest something of a solution rather than hanging the group home threat over his head. Keith wondered how long she would last; compassion didn't remain in her line of work. Not for kids like him.

Because it was an order from the agency, Keith's newest foster family had no choice but to acquiesce to the once-a-week program that was held at the community recreational center. It wasn't within easy walking distance and so Keith found himself sitting uncomfortably in the back of the family's car as his foster dad drove him, grumbling all the while.

He'd been barked at not to be late for pick-up at three in the afternoon and then Keith had been left standing at the curb as the car sped away, worn jacket pulled tight about him as even though the temperatures had been warm most of the year in the early morning the high forties were still chilly.

Keith didn't know if he wanted to be here or not. The promise of lunch was indeed a positive, but he had no desire to get all buddy-buddy with some college student who was doing this for a class. He didn't talk about himself and he wasn't going to start now with some random kid who needed credits.

He did have to try though. Somewhat. They were supposed to report back to the social services agency and if he didn't have a good report… well, he didn't want to think about the consequences. But he couldn't fake it. He had no acting skills to speak of and try as hard as he could he was always too blunt. It's what generally got him into the most trouble.

He got through check-in as quickly as possible, keeping his head down and avoiding the warm smile of the woman handing out nametags. He didn't trust those kind of smiles anymore. They were too open. Being open only ever got you hurt.

The kids ranged from about twelve to sixteen, as far as Keith could tell. He didn't recognize anyone in his age group, but then again he hadn't been paying any particular attention to the freshman in his classes either. No mentors seemed to have arrived yet though.

There were little clusters of chairs spread out in the gymnasium where the other kids were congregating, but Keith ignored all of those and made for the back corner shadowed by the bleachers and sank down. His mentor could come find him here; he had no wish to socialize with anyone else.

The clock on the far wall continued to tick away, approaching eight thirty, when all of a sudden the sort of hushed quiet was invaded by many loud voices and Keith picked his head up to look at the group of young men and women entering who had to be the mentors.

His eyes widened as he took in the jackets, many of which sported a familiar "GG" symbol etched into the material. Galaxy Garrison. Their mentors were students at Galaxy Garrison.

His heart thumped so loudly he was surprised no one else could hear it, as for the first time in a long, long time excitement swept through him. Everyone knew of the Galaxy Garrison. It was the premier learning institution in the entire world for space travel and its pilot program was top-notch.

Students entered the school for their typically junior year of high school and graduated six years later. If they made it. It was beyond rigorous from what Keith had learned and the dropout rate was over sixty percent. These students entering the building had to be seniors, which meant they had practically made it. They were  _elite_ and he suddenly felt very, very small and out of place.

Keith had never held much interest in space , which is what most thought of about the Garrison, but the piloting. It made his veins thrum with unbridled energy. To be able to fly craft like that, to soar across the skies, completely free with nothing to ground you or hold you back or –

He'd never get in though. The Garrison only accepted applications from the top one percent of a school's pool and while Keith was smart he was no genius. Exceptions were made, of course, for various entries and situations, but he had no chance. Not a foster kid like him. It had made growing up in the Galaxy Garrison's shadow all the more hard to swallow.

He ducked his head back down so he wasn't caught staring and waited, assuming one of the Garrison students would find him eventually. His stomach was flipping over and the apathetic dread from earlier had turned into something more like nerves.

He was nervous. He was actually nervous, his hands shaking and he clenched them tightly about upturned knees. This would be the closest he would ever get to the Galaxy Garrison and he… he…

What if he was paired with a pilot? The thought sent shivers through him. A real, actual pilot. He knew they obviously couldn't go flying but to hear stories? It would maybe be enough. As much as a troublemaking foster kid like him could ever hope to get, anyway.

The voices were growing louder and he hunched further over, almost glad he hadn't eaten since yesterday morning because he felt this close to throwing it all back up. What if his mentor was a jerk? What if he was just like all of the other adults Keith had encountered throughout his life? Exceptions were rare and they never stuck around for long as he bounced houses and schools.

He wanted to think Galaxy Garrison students would be different, but he knew better. These were powerful people. Young, but powerful. And they knew it. And he'd seen people who had power and money and it had not made them nicer.

Footsteps vibrated through the gymnasium floor and Keith reminded himself to breathe as they drew closer. He knew, at the very least, that his mentor wouldn't physically hurt him. Not a cuff to the face or a slap to the back of the head or even a harsh pinch on his arm. He couldn't. There were too many witnesses. Besides, these were supposed to be role-model students, right? To help kids like him who were pegged as violent and trouble.

He didn't dare hope for too much, for an actual big-brother type figure, but even to have someone who didn't yell at him or tell him off, even to be ignored, would be better than being stuck at the family's home all day and trying to avoid angering them.

But… wouldn't that be something though? To have someone to actually talk to? About anything? To have someone who might even care? Even if it was only for a couple months — the program ran until Christmas holidays — it would be more than he'd ever had since his dad had passed away.

The footsteps stopped and Keith's breath had too. He waited there, near choking with both dread and anticipation, refusing to admit he was afraid but resolutely not looking up from his knees.

"Hey there," came a very masculine voice. "You must be Keith."

And now that he'd been addressed he had no other option but to look up. So he did, taking in the Garrison student who would be stuck with him for the next nine weeks. He was tall, that was the first thing Keith noticed. Tall and broad shouldered and square-jawed with muscled arms hidden beneath a fitted jacket that could so easily hurt.

But his face was gentle, a soft smile and even softer charcoal colored eyes. And his hair. Keith's eyes widened as he took in the buzzed sides with a black tuft dropping over the forehead. That… that was pretty cool.

"I'm Takashi Shirogane," the young man introduced himself. "But everyone just calls me Shiro." He eyed the ground next to Keith up against the bleachers. "Can I sit with you?"

Keith let out a mute nod, suddenly tongue tied. No one ever asked him  _anything._ And if they did, they never cared about the answer or believed it. He was a liar and a troublemaker and made more work for them, he was told again and again. His opinion didn't matter. It never did.

And yet he was certain that had he said no that Shiro would not have sat down. He probably would have hovered like an imposing giant, but Keith could just feel that he would not have gone against his wishes. Something uncurled inside him slowly.

Shiro settled down next to him, not touching but within arm reach and mirrored Keith, although he extended one long leg in front of him.

"So," Shiro said, directing that same soft smile but it was more intense this close, "Cardinals fan, huh?"

Keith blinked at him, unsure of where that had come from. "...What?"

Shiro gestured at Keith's shirt and he looked down, the upside logo of the Arizona Cardinals football team staring back up at him.

"Oh. No. It's just…" One of the shirts the home had given him, as they gave him all his clothes. Random castoffs and donated items. He hadn't even really paid any attention, but he did like that it was a red shirt. "... it was clean," he finally said, feeling his cheeks warming.

Shiro laughed then, but it wasn't cruel. Amused, rather and he gave Keith a conspiratorial wink. "I hear you. I had to dig for something today too. I suppose it's laundry day for me when I get back before something starts breeding in my hamper."

A smile tugged at Keith's face without his permission and he let it.

"So, football fan at all?" Shiro asked and Keith shook his head, earning another laugh. "Me neither. Some of the guys on campus though like to hold pick-up games and I've been dragged into more than one. See that guy over there," and Shiro jerked his chin to where a tall, brunette boy was sitting with one of the younger kids. "That's John. He's in our engineer program but he's got one heck of an arm. Don't let majors fool you! I swear, the engineers and programmers are much more terrifying than the pilots."

"Are… are you an engineer then?" Keith asked, because despite his gentle demeanor Shiro was rather physically imposing.

Shiro chuckled then. "No, not me. I'm in the fighter pilot program. My best friend though is a programmer although he is most definitely not terrifying."

Keith's breath caught, hung up on the first part of Shiro's words. Fighter pilot. He was a fighter pilot. He was talking to a  _fighter pilot_ of the Garrison.

"Matt's not here though; he's a year behind me and it's just us seniors getting to do this program," Shiro explained.

"Getting to?" Keith repeated.

"Yup, completely volunteer. A lot of us are going to be staying with the Garrison upon graduation and moving up to officers and part of that comes with an instructional, so we're getting our feet wet so to speak and hopefully will have a lot of fun doing it."

That meant then that all of these students were volunteers. Keith looked with wide eyes as various pairs strolled out of the gymnasium, each Garrison member's face displaying nothing but kindness. It meant that they weren't here because they had to be. They wanted to be.

They wanted to help screw-ups like him.

"Enough about me," Shiro said. "I'm pretty boring, really. Let's hear about you."

"Me?"

"I don't see anyone else here named Keith that I'm talking to," Shiro smiled. "Come on, just one thing for now. How about your favorite color?"

"Yellow," Keith said promptly. "Like… like a sunrise." Because he used to watch them with his dad in the mornings before he'd go off to work. It was a color that just made everything softer and warmer and filled him with hope. And right now, for the few minutes that he'd known Shiro, he felt that tingling of hope, that someone out there did care.

"Nice choice," Shiro said. "It's red for me. Not red-red though, you know, like a deeper hue. Almost a burgundy, I guess." He smiled that easy grin. "Okay, one more question, if you're up for it." Keith nodded. "Favorite animal?"

"Hippo," Keith murmured.

Shiro cocked his head. "Sorry, didn't catch that."

"Hippos," Keith repeated, slightly louder, blushing.

"Can I ask why?" and he could hear the friendly and honest amusement.

Keith gave a small shrug. "Dunno. When I was little my dad took me to the zoo and I guess I just… really liked them. He bought me this plush one and I had it for years until…"

Until one of his first foster brothers had found it when he was ten and proclaimed that only babies slept with stuffed animals. When Keith had protested the other boy had ripped it up with a sneer of "grow up" and that had been the last of Harry the Hippo.

"Until?" Shiro prompted gently.

"I lost it," Keith muttered.

Shiro hummed noncommittally. "Sorry to hear that. I know how precious things like that can be. I've still got this old stuffed rabbit my obachan gave me when I was a baby. Named it Usagi-chan and she sits on top my dresser at the Garrison."

"Rabbits, then?" Keith asked, hoping he wasn't being too forward.

"Nah, I mean, they're cute and all, but my favorite animal is a tiger. Gorgeous animals. Which, speaking of…" Shiro dug his hands into his jacket pockets and pulled out what looked like a pair of tickets. "Up for a trip to the zoo?"

"The zoo," Keith repeated, dumbly.

"Yeah, Garrison City has a pretty awesome one and it's not too far. You been there before?" Keith shook his head, his heart in the process of doing jumping jacks while his stomach joined in too. The zoo. He hadn't been to the zoo since… since… before the foster system, at least.

"We've got permission to take you guys off campus within city limits and I've got my bike out front. I know it might not seem like the most grown-up place, and you don't strike me as the childish type, but I thought —"

"Yes," Keith interrupted, clamping his lips together a second later though. He'd spoken out of turn. They didn't like that. Rude. Disrespectful.

Shiro though just grinned, either not noticing or not commenting on Keith's sudden discomfort. But Keith was sure that he saw. As warm as those eyes were, they were sharp. He didn't know whether to feel relieved or embarrassed. "Awesome. Some of the staff here prepped lunches to go in case we left, so let's grab a couple and head out. You okay to ride on my motorcycle? I've got a spare helmet for you."

"A motorcycle?" He couldn't quite hide the excitement in his voice as he got up and followed Shiro across the gymnasium. He'd ridden them before. Hotwired one from an old foster family at the age of twelve and took a joyride on an unattended one last year. He'd returned both safely, but that hadn't stopped the police from getting involved and he had vehicle theft on his juvenile record. Just one more tick against him, but he hadn't been able to help it. The short time he'd been on the bikes, shooting down roads and the wind whistling through his hair and stinging his eyes, had been moments where he felt  _free._ He'd do it all again, if he could.

"I never get to ride anymore," Shiro said sorrowfully. "I mean, I get to do rocket simulations, and those are amazing, don't get me wrong. But we're cooped up on campus most weekends and we've already been given the kibosh on off-roading in the desert. The Garrison is pretty strict about security and safety, as it should be."

Shiro had collected two sack lunches and bottles of water with a thanks to the volunteer at the table and Keith had found himself echoing the word. He'd spoken more this morning than he had all of last week, and considering Shiro was doing most of the talking that was saying something.

"Here's my pride and joy, Vanessa" Shiro said as he led them through the center's parking lot and stopping at a gleaming black motorcycle with red details. "Isn't she a beauty?"

Keith nodded, admiring the bike and still in disbelief that he was about to ride it. Legally.

"Put this on for me please," Shiro said, holding out a helmet that matched the bike, an identical one already over his own head. Full visor and everything, he was not kidding about the safety. Keith took the offered one and pulled it on, only wincing slightly as the hard plastic bumped against his nearly healed but still tender bruise.

He was aware of Shiro's eyes on him though and he hurried to adjust the helmet. He knew that Shiro had seen the bruise highlighting his cheek bone, but he hadn't said anything. Probably figured like everyone else it was from fighting – which is why most of them were in this program anyway – and Keith aimed to keep it that way. He was not going to turn into a pity case. He didn't want it.

What did he want, exactly? Someone to talk to, he supposed. Someone who actually listened.

Someone who cared.

And he wasn't going to screw that up by saying something that got him removed from his family and sent back to the home, over two hours out.

Shiro inspected the helmet for himself, nodding when he'd deemed it snug enough.

"Hop on," he said, already straddling the bike. Keith gingerly did so, sitting ramrod straight on the second seat and wondering where he was supposed to put his hands. The obvious answer was on Shiro, but… his knuckles turned white. People didn't like it when he touched them.

"I don't bite," Shiro teased, looking at him over a broad shoulder. "Come on, arms around and hold on tight. Vanessa can really go."

Keith tentatively wrapped his arms about Shiro's waist, fingers digging into the leather jacket, but still trying to keep as much of himself from leaning against him as possible. Shiro didn't seem to mind though and sent him another warm smile. "All right, ready? We've got about a ten minute ride."

Keith nodded and with a purr of the engine they were off.

Shiro was not exaggerating when he said the bike could go. Keith found himself clinging tighter as they picked up speed, leaving the inner part of the city for the outskirts where the zoo was located. He realized, helmeted cheek pressed flush against Shiro's back, that this was the closest thing he'd given to a hug since he was ten. His arms tightened unconsciously more about Shiro at the thought.

The ride was silent between the riders, but the wind whistled and the sights went by in a flash of color. It wasn't quite the same as getting to drive himself, but it was nonetheless exhilarating. Keith was pretty sure Shiro might be going more than a bit over the speed limit, if the amount of cars they passed was any indication, but he said nothing. The man clearly knew what he was doing and Keith was enjoying the ride.

All too soon they were pulling into a large parking lot and Shiro was talking enough for both of them about some new penguin exhibit that they had to check out and weaving them expertly through the crowd.

The trip passed by in a blur. Shiro didn't ask much of Keith, just inquired which exhibits and animals they should see next, what he thought of dolphin shows, weren't the tigers absolutely beautiful? and Keith appreciated it.

He hadn't wanted Shiro to turn into one of the social workers who tried to act like they cared with their questions about how he was, what he thought of his current family. He liked this better; it was fun and light and he felt… happy. Yes, he decided as they made their way into the pachyderm exhibit. He felt happy.

It was a near foreign feeling as he hadn't had much to be happy for recently. Small things brought him joy, but nothing like this. He sent a silent thank you to the social worker who had offered up this suggestion.

"Hey Keith, over here!" Shiro called, standing at the railing of a smaller pen. "Look!"

Keith, who had been reading up on the daily routine of the African Elephant, walked quickly to join Shiro and see what was so exciting.

A hippo and her baby greeted his vision, lying contentedly with one another on a bed of straw and apparently sleeping. His hands tightened on the metal railing as a lump he could not explain rose up in his throat.

"Her name's Helga and the zoo named the little guy Boris," Shiro read from the card. "Well, not so little, he's almost one hundred pounds." Shiro continued to read from the announcement, but it was fading into the background for Keith.

He wasn't there with Shiro anymore. He was perched on his dad's shoulders and he could hear the deep baritone as his four-year-old eyes observed a similar sight and his dad read the birth announcement to him.

" _They look so happy,"_ Keith had observed and his dad had chuckled, bouncing his leg.

" _That's because they're a family and they're together,"_ he'd said.  _"Just like you and me, right kiddo?"_

"—Keith, hey, what's wrong?"

Shiro's voice cut into the memory and it vanished, being replaced with the loud crowds behind him and the very worried face of Shiro, who had crouched down to bring himself more to Keith's height, not touching but hovering just out of range.

"I…" Keith tried, but the lump in his throat was unyielding and he felt the treacherous sting of tears. He swallowed thickly – do not cry, do not cry, he chanted at himself – but that combined with Shiro's soft gaze only made it worse.

"Come on," Shiro said gently and his hand descended butterfly light behind Keith's shoulder, not squeezing but just there. "Let's get some fresh air, huh?"

Keith wasn't entirely sure how they exited the building, but a minute later he was sitting mechanically down on one of the many park benches, this one off the main road, and Shiro sat next to him, hands folded in his lap.

"Want to talk about it?" Shiro offered. He sounded sincere but Keith shook his head, keeping his eyes trained on his knees. He knew if he tried to speak he'd just cry and he couldn't cry. Not in front of Shiro, who was everything Keith wasn't but wished he was. "Okay then," Shiro said in the same, easy tone. "Let's just sit here for a bit."

They were both quiet then, the soft sounds of the park breaking up any actual silence. Shiro let out a sigh next to him and Keith tensed. This was it. This was where Shiro would say he didn't want to be his mentor anymore because he couldn't be helped and he'd dump him off at the center and—

"I'm sorry," Shiro said instead and Keith was so shocked he lifted his head so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. He met Keith's eyes, not looking away from the red-rimmed gaze. "I didn't mean to make you upset."

"I… it's not your fault," Keith managed, ducking his head back down. "I just… it made me," and damnit, his voice was rising in pitch, "… made me think of my dad," he finished, breathlessly.

"You two were close," Shiro said, phrasing it as a statement but Keith nodded anyway.

"He's… he's all I had," Keith whispered, hands pressing into his thighs. And God, how pathetic was he? He always kept a straight face when dealing with the social workers, made them think he didn't care and he was untouchable. And seeing some hippos had reduced him to this near blubbering mess that he never allowed himself to be or feel.

Shiro did not say anything, but a hand descended once more feather-light on Keith's shoulder and it stayed there, thumb brushing back and forth against the ribbing of his jacket. Keith hiccupped back another sob.

He didn't know how long they sat on the bench as Shiro rubbed his shoulder and Keith struggled mightily to even his breathing and force the tears away. This probably wasn't what Shiro had wanted when he said a trip to the zoo and Keith felt guilt pool hot and heavy in him, but a quick side-glance showed that Shiro didn't look upset in the slightest.

Shiro caught his eye though and gave a small inclination of his head. "Better?"

Keith nodded. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't—"

"Keith," Shiro interrupted gently. "Don't ever apologize for how you feel. All right? Feeling is what makes us human and no one, no one, should ever tell you differently. You can tell me whatever it is you're feeling and I'll sit and listen and I'll be here for you."

And the burn was back to his eyes and Keith averted his gaze, blinking them away.

"Come on," Shiro said, rising from the bench and Keith immediately missed the comforting touch. "Let's go see those penguins I mentioned earlier. According to the guide it should be feeding time soon and that'll be fun."

Keith nodded, grateful that Shiro was letting the subject drop. It still didn't stop that warm feeling from spreading in his chest, matched only by the despair that in two months this would all be gone and everything would go back to the way it was. That was why, he decided, he had to make the most of this.

And so squaring his shoulders Keith marched forward, determined to enjoy the penguins with Shiro.

xxx

The next several weeks passed by much too quickly. Keith suffered through the weekdays, avoiding his foster family as best he could and finding what escape he could at school and the walks to and from home.

He tried his best to stay out of trouble, to keep any transgressions to a minimum at the house. He did his chores, locked the doors, remembered to take off his dirt-encrusted boots in the mudroom. He did his homework and his foster brother's and even some of the brother's friends' without complaint. He did not want to give them any reason or excuse to not bring him to the community center on Saturday mornings to see Shiro.

Because Shiro…

Shiro was  _amazing._  He treated Keith like an actual person, someone with hopes and dreams just like anyone else even though he was a foster kid. He had made Keith laugh – Keith hadn't remembered what that sounded like – and he  _listened._ He listened when Keith found the courage to tell him he dreamed of being a pilot and rather than telling him no, he'd smiled that fond smile and told Keith that he thought Keith could do anything he put his mind to.

And then… Keith grinned wide at the memory. He'd let Keith drive his bike. His dubbed pride and joy. Shiro had gotten permission to take Keith just outside the city limits to where there was a wide swath of open road that led only to Galaxy Garrison and so very few cars traveled it. If anyone asked, Shiro told him, they were just going for a ride and a picnic.

After Keith told Shiro about his dreams to be a pilot, an almost reckless grin had stolen across Shiro's face and he'd said he had a great idea. Said great idea was letting Keith practice driving on the bike, just to see how he liked it.

Keith had grinned then too at Shiro's flabbergasted shout as Keith had gunned the engine and they'd taken off like a rocket after he'd had the basic controls explained to him. Shiro had clutched him so tightly about the waist that it hurt, but Keith had not cared, soaking up the near-hug almost as much as Shiro's exhilaration and shouts of wonder as Keith flawlessly navigated the terrain.

It was one of the best times he'd ever had and Keith was going to cherish that memory for as long as he lived.

Shiro told him stories of his family and friends and in turn Keith had found himself sharing a few anecdotes about his dad and they didn't hurt as much as they used to. He still felt tears pressing on his eyes more often than he'd like, but Shiro never judged him for it. He would put his hand lightly on Keith's shoulder and just hold it there until Keith was ready for him to let go.

He'd said a little more about his foster family than he honestly should have, quick though to reiterate how glad he was that they were putting up with him so he didn't… didn't have to go back. He never elaborated on that part and Shiro never asked, but he could feel Shiro's support. Still though, he tried to not make it too personal. He wasn't a charity case.

Shiro had introduced him to a wide range of board games and had gotten a good majority of the program to have a full on game day one abnormally rainy Saturday. And Keith, to his surprise, had had fun. He'd interacted with a bunch of the other kids, kids like him who were starting to smile more and laugh and the angry, cold undertones were fading out.

Keith wondered if Shiro and the other Garrison students even realized what they were doing for them. How just a few days of kindness and compassion and having someone listen to you and try to understand had turned them around. Had made them have hope again. Foster kid, school bully, troublemaker, shoplifter… They weren't those things here. They were just them. Just kids who were for once being treated like they mattered.

Keith should have known it wouldn't last.

He'd spent all of this week on his best behavior, just as he had the previous ones since he'd met Shiro, determined to let nothing come up that would ruin it. Because, as he'd found out, the school sent in reports to the big brother program, and parts of those were relayed to their mentors. It was an effort to see how they were doing outside of the program and if their behavior was improving.

He hadn't rudely answered any teacher that week, trying to keep his tone as pleasant (if quiet) as possible when he was called on. He had avoided the lunchroom so as to avoid his foster brother and his friends, who seemed determined to make his life miserable and made it often so Keith was the one blamed. With his history of "violence" and troublemaking tendencies the administrators often sided with the other boys.

He'd made it through the entire week of school without incident and Keith was mentally patting himself on the back as he headed home, the Friday afternoon weather a pleasant seventy and the sun warming him from the inside out, when his foster brother, Garrett, and friends had circled around him.

"Where do you think you're going?" his foster brother demanded as Keith made to walk through the circle, keeping his head down even as his pulse raced.

"Home."

"Home," Garrett scoffed. "Wrong answer, loser. You don't have a home."

Keith ignored him and once more tried to walk around them. He couldn't fight. He couldn't get in trouble. Not now.

"Hey! I'm talking to you!" Large hands shoved him and Keith went tumbling to the ground, landing painfully on his bookbag. He resisted the urge to jump up and take a swing, knowing he would get overwhelmed by the other boys.

His eyes darted about the area looking for help. But no one was on this side of the school building, heading towards the baseball fields. He was on his own.

So Keith rose slowly to his feet, ignoring the ache of his back, and tried to walk forward again, not saying a word. He got shoved back down, this time to jeers and cruel laughter.

"Are you so stupid you forgot how to talk?" Garret taunted as Keith picked himself up again but stayed rooted to his spot. "Huh?"

"I don't talk to idiots," Keith said quietly, savagely, purple eyes flashing, even as his hands trembled in fists at his side.

"Ooh, big words for a foster kid," one of the other boys called.

"Why is he a foster kid again?" asked another, although his tone was cruel.

"Cuz his mommy and daddy didn't want him anymore," Garrett answered.

Keith felt rage and hurt war as one in him but he stood his ground. He'd heard worse. He knew it wasn't true. And he  _could not fight_ them. He couldn't get in trouble again. Words couldn't hurt, he reminded himself. They were just words.

"Isn't that right?" Garrett taunted as Keith remained quiet. "You were so pathetic that your mom left and your dad died to get away."

Keith's breath hitched. What? How… how did he know that?

"That's right," his foster brother sneered. "Your dad couldn't wait till they pulled the plug on him. At least then he didn't have to look at you."

With a wordless scream of rage Keith launched himself at the larger boy, heart feeling like it had been stabbed. His fist connected solidly with the other boy's nose and the dull crack under his hand felt like vindication.

He didn't stop there. He struck wherever he could, small fists pounding away at a shoulder and a chin, screaming all the while.

Other hands pulled at him then, a foot connected with his side and someone else yanked his hair, drawing reflexive tears to his eyes. He was pulled to kneeling, hair held tightly back and a hand unlike Shiro's pressing uncomfortably into his shoulder.

"You… You…." sputtered Garrett, words garbled due to the blood streaming from his nose as his friends helped him to standing.

Keith felt his stomach drop as his foster brother unsteadily advanced. Oh no. Please no.

He saw the punch more than he felt it, head snapping to the right and the world somersaulting as he went sprawling.

"Dad will hear about this!" Garrett shouted as Keith lie on the dirt, cheek throbbing and heart breaking. "You're going back to the home! You… you freak!"

There was laughter then and someone kicked Keith hard in the ribs again in parting. Their voices faded away and Keith continued to lie there, trembling and feeling tears streaking down his cheeks.

He'd messed up. He'd messed up big time.

He was going to have to go back now. To the home.

But even worse than that. He let out a sob. He'd never see Shiro again. And that hurt more than anything.

Keith didn't want to get up. He wanted to lie right there, in the bloodied dirt, for forever until he became a part of the landscape. He didn't want to go back to the house, where there would only be more pain and punishment. But honor would make him return anyway.

He had the sudden, rash thought of walking to the community center. He could spend the night there, huddled on one of the benches in the courtyard, and then in the morning Shiro would come and he would… He would what, Keith snorted. Adopt him? Take him to live at the Garrison with him like some stray cat? Shiro was a kid too. An older, bigger, wiser kid but still just over twenty. He couldn't take care of Keith like that. Keith didn't even know if he'd want to.

Stifling a cry, Keith struggled to standing, chest aching where he'd been kicked and his cheek throbbing. His legs seemed to be working though and he forced himself to trudge towards the house with all the enthusiasm as someone headed to the guillotine.

The family's main car was not in the driveway and Keith spared a moment of hope that no one was home and he could at least tuck himself away in his room for all the safety it offered.

But as he eased open the back door, hoping to tiptoe through the kitchen, he was greeted with his foster father wearing a scowl that promised murder. Keith faintly wondered if he was actually going to die.

"Get over here," he barked, large arms crossed and leaning against the counter.

Keith dropped his bookbag with a foreboding thump and crossed the room, standing a few paces away and looking meekly down.

"You hurt my son," came a low growl.

Keith said nothing.

"You broke his nose," his voice was rising, "gave him a  _concussion._ " Hands were then there, gripping his shoulders and Keith winced, already feeling finger-shaped bruises.

"I'm sorry," Keith whispered, keeping his head down.

"Sorry?" his foster dad repeated. "Sorry?" The fingers tightened. "I'll make you sorry, you little shit."

"He started it!" Keith protested, jerking his head up, flinching back immediately though at the sheer hatred in the opposite face.

"And yet he's the one in the hospital," growled the man. "You," and he shook Keith, sending his brain rattling in his skull, "look perfectly fine."

"I'm sorry," Keith repeated, desperately.

"You aren't welcome in my house any longer," came the response. "It's back to the group home for you."

"Please," Keith whimpered, hating how he felt tears forming. "Please. I'll… I'll be better."

"I'm calling the agency first thing," was the reply and Keith was shoved backwards, released from the grip and slammed into the wall. "Get out of my sight."

"Please, you can't," Keith begged, wrapping his arms about himself as he stood trembling.

"I can't?" His voice was low now. Dangerous. "You dare to presume to tell me what I can and cannot do?"

Keith swallowed back his next protest.

"Get out of my sight before you learn real regret."

Keith hurried to obey, scrambling up the staircase and lightly closing the door to his room, shifting to sit against it so no one could come in. And only then did he let himself cry, burying his face into his upturned knees to muffle the sound from an audience that did not care.

He was going back to the home. Back to that place for at least a year where the bullying would only be worse and the adults wouldn't care and he'd never get out. Where there was no Shiro. No one to tell him that he did matter, that he was something, could be something.

And he had no one to blame but himself.

xxx

Morning came too quick, even the skies overcast and not offering the slightest hint of yellow warmth to comfort him.

Keith remained curled up on his bed, small duffel already packed and clutched to his chest. He'd heard his foster mom come in with Garrett last night from the hospital, but they had not bothered him although he'd heard her hushed whispers, asking what they would do without the money. He'd squeezed his eyes shut as his foster father had answered they'd get another kid, one not so violent. All he ever had been was a paycheck, hadn't he?

He'd lied awake all night, debating the merits of just running away. It couldn't be worse than the home. He had no idea how he'd survive all on his own in the desert around town, but maybe he could hitch a ride elsewhere. Start over.

He wouldn't though. As much as he thought about it he wouldn't act on it. He wasn't that reckless. He knew there were worse things out there then the group home and given his luck he'd wind up in the thick of that. No, it was safer to go this route. It was only, hopefully, for the next year, although he was doubtful they'd place him with a family when he was nearly sixteen.

So… four years until he turned eighteen and could strike out on his own. Four years… it wasn't so long. He buried his face back into his duffle, not sure who he was trying to fool.

He'd heard the man on the phone already, voice raised as he yelled at whatever unfortunate social worker was on the 24/7 line. It wouldn't be long now.

It was nearing nine and he wondered if Shiro was missing him. He hugged the bag tighter. Would Shiro even care?

Yes, he decided after a moment. Shiro would. He could allow himself that small comfort, even if it led to nowhere. Shiro cared. He wondered if the social services had already called the center and told them Keith would no longer be coming. Maybe. Maybe not. They weren't the most efficient bunch.

However, as the doorbell rang, Keith amended that. They were pretty quick when it came to removing foster failures from their homes.

They'd always been good at that.

He pulled himself to his feet, clutching his bag to him as though it could protect him from the anger and disappointment, and stepped soundlessly into the hall. His body ached from where he'd been kicked but he hadn't dared go to the kitchen for ice. It was already purpling over nicely and he was sure his face looked the same. He couldn't tell for sure though as he had no mirror in his room.

He inched along the upstairs hallway, ears already listening for the telltale murmured apologies for the trouble. He'd always had exceptional hearing; probably hearing more than he should.

But this voice… His heart stuttered in his chest. He knew this voice.

Abandoning caution as hope surged he broke onto the stairwell landing, amethyst eyes widening in confirmation.

"Shiro," he whispered thickly.

Because standing by the door and showing no signs of being intimidated by his clearly angry foster father was Shiro, dressed in his leather jacket and buzzed hair but somehow looking so much older than his mere twenty-one years as his face was torn between seriousness and a scowl.

He wasn't aware his voice had carried but both males turned to look at him. His foster father's eyes narrowed in hatred while Shiro's widened in a mixture of distress and horror. Keith felt his cheeks heat.

"See," the older man said, gesturing at Keith, who shrank back at the action. "Little shit picked a fight with my boy yesterday and got what was coming to him. Get him out of my house."

"With all due respect, sir," Shiro said, dragging his gaze from Keith, "I think your son got exactly what was coming to him."

"What did you—"

"We'll be leaving now," Shiro interrupted. "An agency member will be in contact with you regarding  _compensation,"_ and Shiro said the word as though it were acid, "for your  _troubles."_

His voice softened as he turned to Keith, pointedly ignoring the rapidly purpling man just inches from him. "Come on, buddy. Time for us to go."

Keith felt like he was in a dream, barely registering his trip down the stairs. His heart was in his throat as he neared the two men, but Shiro stepped forward, placing himself between Keith's foster father and the door and offered a tender smile.

Keith wished he could return it, but he felt frozen. He slipped past the angry man with barely a glance, but still feeling the heated gaze boring into his back all the way until Shiro closed the door behind them.

"Shiro," he whispered. "H-how…?"

"Not here," Shiro said, hand familiarly going to descend on Keith's shoulder, but Keith winced as it made contact with the finger-shaped bruises and he retracted it with a frown that was forced into a smile a moment later. "Come on, I'm taking you to the agency."

"The agency?" Keith's feet stalled, despair swelling.

"Just for a little bit," Shiro said, and there was honestly in his words. "Just need to pick up a few things."

It was with that promise that Keith pulled himself gingerly onto the bike, ribs aching as he pressed himself against Shiro's back but he didn't care. His fingers tightened in Shiro's jacket as they took off with a louder than needed roar from the quiet neighborhood.

They pulled into the local branch office about thirty minutes later, Keith's fingers near numb from how hard he'd been holding onto Shiro and his body was one big ache as he stumbled off the bike.

"Hey,hey," Shiro murmured, gently steering Keith to sit on the curb and joining him. "You're all right now."

"Am I… am I going to the h-home?" and Keith hated how his voice broke.

"No, no," Shiro soothed and his hand descended to Keith's back, rubbing circles and Keith leaned into the touch. "No, you're not going back there."

"But I messed up," Keith whispered. "They told me if... if this family didn't w-work that I…"

"Keith," Shiro said, serious. "It is not your fault this foster family did not work out. They… they were not a good fit for you, or really I think for anyone. It's not your fault, all right? I can see how hard you've been trying, but Keith, you shouldn't have to stay in that kind of toxic environment. Not when it's hurting you."

Keith sniffled.

"Where are you hurt?" Shiro asked then.

"I'm fine."

"Keith," and Shiro's other hand lighted upon his chin and tilted it up, thumb brushing away a tear track that had flowed over his new bruise. "You are not fine. Do you need a hospital?"

"N-no." At least he didn't think so.

"Let's get inside and talk with Aimee then," Shiro said. He added with a soft sigh, "And get you some ice."

Aimee, it turned out, was the social worker who had recommended Keith to the big brother program. She'd taken one look at Keith when he walked in, cursed under her breath, but then followed it up immediately with a pained smile in his direction. "I'll get you some ice, sweetie," she said, gesturing him and Shiro over to two of the large plastic waiting room chairs. "And then I'll get you that paperwork," she directed at Shiro.

"Aimee called me this morning," Shiro said as Keith sat down. "She said your foster family had called to… to return you."

Keith looked up, surprised at the sudden anger in Shiro's voice.

"I've been giving her reports each week," Shiro continued. "And Keith… I've had nothing to say but good things about you. You're smart. And talented. And fun and hopeful and sweet and kind you have such big dreams. You're nothing like your profile said you were."

Keith ducked his head, feeling his cheeks burn. Someone had listened. Someone had seen beyond the lines and lines of text and isolated incidents, the marks on his record that showed only one part of a story.

He swallowed back the sob.

"Mark," which Keith recognized as the name of his foster father, "said there had been an incident with his son and you were the aggressor. That didn't fit with what I observed and Aimee didn't think so either."

"But I was," Keith whispered. "I hit him first."

"Out of the blue?" Shiro asked. "Or did he provoke you?"

"He… he said…" he couldn't even repeat it.

"You aren't someone looking for a fight, Keith," Shiro said gently. "Hitting someone is not the answer, but I understand. And," his tone darkened, "I daresay Garrett and his friends haven't exactly held back their own fists before either." Keith's wince answered that.

Aimee came back then, a few instant cold packs in her right hand and a near overflowing file folder in her left. Keith recognized it. His folder. With every single incident he'd ever been involved in.

"Here we are," she said, handing the ice packs off to Shiro. "Before we apply those though, Keith, I'd like to get some pictures."

"Pictures?" he repeated, voice small. What did they want those for?

"For your case file," she held up the folder. "Proof of your injuries. If you could remove your shirt for me, please?" Her gaze softened. "There's no need to hide anything here, sweetie. We're here to help."

Keith cast a look at Shiro, who nodded. "As long as you're comfortable with it," he added. "Otherwise we'll just take a picture of this," and his hand outlined Keith's cheek.

"It's fine," Keith mumbled. Because this was new. No one had ever cared to see what he looked like after a fight. Just the other injured party, as if to highlight how dangerous and violent Keith was.

He gingerly shrugged off his jacket and then pulled the tee shirt over his head. His cheeks flamed again as he heard Shiro's sharp intake of breath and Aimee cursed again.

"Can I feel your ribs?" Shiro asked, voice somewhat shaking. "I want to make sure nothing is broken."

Keith nodded and Shiro's hands – cold hands, he shivered – lighted upon the purple and blue flesh of his torso, lightly pressing down and Keith's breath hitched.

"Nothing broken," Shiro said after a moment, relief evident. His eyes though were tracing over the definite finger marks embedded in Keith's shoulder and Keith could feel Aimee's gaze on some of the more yellowed and faded bruises on his back.

The camera snapped more than a few times, Aimee asking questions as to how he had gotten each injury and he tried to answer as honestly as possible. Her lips were pursed like she'd swallowed a lemon by the time he finished.

"I'm sorry you went through that," she said, voice trembling, when he had finished and Shiro helped him pull his shirt back on. "If we had known about the family's treatment—"

"But you didn't," Shiro interrupted, eyes narrowed although not fully at Aimee. "And he couldn't tell you because your agency threatened him with that ultimatum."

"I know, I know," she sighed and Keith felt a start of surprise that the anger in her voice was not directed at him, but at the agency. "It's a screwed up system, I know that. I'm trying to make it better, but there are so, so many…" she trailed off, shaking her head. Her steady gaze met Keith's then and he forced himself to keep it. "I am truly sorry, Keith. For all that you've gone through. But I think we have a solution regarding your residency that you'll like. I know it can't erase all the hurt that has been caused, but I do hope it will help."

"What is it?" Keith asked, not yet daring to hope, even with all the little clues that had been presented. Because Shiro couldn't… he couldn't actually adopt him. Right?

"I've talked to the Galaxy Garrison," Shiro said, coming to crouch in front of Keith. "I've told them about your high scores – we got your school records from the past few years, which are impressive considering how much you've missed in standard curriculum – and may have mentioned that your driving skills are off the charts. You'll still need to pass the entrance exam and flight simulator – and I'll help, we have a few weeks – but when you do, and I know you will, Keith, you'll be accepted into the Garrison.

"I know you're a little young, but with your talents you'll fit right in with the current first years and we have had a few young geniuses in our programming and tech departments before, so it's nothing the Garrison hasn't dealt with before. It's a year-round lodging program and you'll live on campus and go to school fulltime. I'll be graduating in the spring, but I'll be on campus too in the officers' headquarters and—"

"Yes," Keith breathed, interrupting just like their first meeting about the zoo but not feeling the immediate sense of remorse and fear. Only unbridled joy "Y-yes. Shiro, you…"

His words were lost then as Shiro leaned forward and pulled Keith into a hug, arms secure around his back and Keith found his own rising to return the embrace.

"S-Shiro," he sobbed, unable to believe this was real. Things like this didn't happen to foster kids like him. He wasn't supposed to find someone like Shiro, someone who cared and to look up to. He wasn't supposed to be able to follow his dreams, get into the Galaxy Garrison so he could become a pilot.

"I've got you," Shiro said, his voice choked. "It's going to be all right now."

And Keith believed that with all his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> So. I've been wanting to write my headcanon for how Keith and Shiro meet. It was supposed to be a simple, maybe 3k story of them in the big brother program and their adventures. As you can see, that is not what it became (but ha, I kept it under 10k! Go me!). I'm sorry for my terrible angsty tendencies, but at least this time I took it out on Keith instead of poor Lance. This is my flushed out version of some things I'll touch on in both Sin and Color as I keep the same headcannon throughout all of my fics. No need to reinvent the wheel and all.
> 
> I waffled between how I wanted this to go via perspective (again, you know me. I love to dive into everyone's heads) but ultimately I decided to keep it Keith-only. Goodness knows how much longer this would have grown if I'd dived into Shiro's psyche, but I hope you still got a good idea of Shiro's opinions on the whole matter.
> 
> I'd love to get your thoughts on the story! Please do drop a comment below (not just kudos guys, I really would like to hear what you liked about it ♥). Thank you in advance and thank you for reading!


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